


Madness At Midnight

by getoffmysheets



Series: A Storm Inside 221B [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Epic Misunderstanding, John is in love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sherlock Has Terrible Self-Esteem, Tender Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6953080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmysheets/pseuds/getoffmysheets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock thinks he knows what's going on here, but he hasn't got the slightest clue. Until he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I know it's been forever since I posted anything up here, but I always try to give you guys something good for my birthday - here we go!

Knowing what he now knows, John cannot just ignore it. He would be a fool to ignore the knowledge that every time he approaches orgasm, Sherlock apparently loses all capacity for speech, except, it would be seem, John's name.

Now, he has a chance, though. Now he knows that Sherlock can feel, has the same desires as any other man in the world, that the chemistry boiling between them wasn't entirely a fiction created inside his own pathetic mind.

John isn't actually sure what he's going to do, but he has hope, something he hasn't – if he's honest with himself – truly had in years on the subject of love.

When the opportunity presents itself, John is surprised by how shocked he isn't. It seemed that the moment was waiting for them all this time, filled with the potential of meeting eyes and joining lips.

Sherlock had rushed him through the door of 221, laughing at Lestrade's mock rage as they shut the door behind them, breathless and giggling out in the hall.

He was beautiful, laughing lowly and carefree and smiling that special warm smile that was just for him, and John...kissed him.

It seemed as natural as breathing, as easy as turning on the lights. He pressed Sherlock lightly into the wall and their mouths met, quiet and slow. Sherlock's breath hitched at the first touch and John slid his lips across his jaw, murmuring “Okay?” in his ear.

Sherlock, clinging to John's arms to stay upright, thought this was John's way of relieving his sexual frustration. He'd known John was bisexual since the night of his wedding. It was after meeting Major James Sholto that Sherlock realized it wasn't his gender that was putting John off – it was Sherlock himself. Now that his wife was gone and John was understandably reluctant to begin another relationship, he was clearly feeling a bit...restless, and after all, he'd already had to touch his best friend sexually – maybe he now thought the benefits of living with someone he could freely get an uncomplicated release with would outweigh his own lack of attraction to Sherlock.

I have to make this good, Sherlock realized. I have to make sure he's so satisfied he never considers leaving Baker Street. After all, he gets his danger fix from me already, and he's one of the few people who not only tolerate but seemingly enjoy my presence. If I can satisfy his sexual urges, he will never have a reason to walk away. I'll give him all the gratification he needs and he'll never leave me.

I have to seduce John Watson.

He would get into John's bed – he would have preferred his heart along with it, but it was rather clear that wasn't impossible at this point.

“Okay,” Sherlock whispered, gasping as John wedged a knee between his thighs. “John...”

He should warn John that he was unlikely to achieve orgasm...he should...

“You were brilliant,” John husked, winding his fingers through the dark curls at the nape of his neck, kissing ardently at Sherlock's beautiful white throat and rubbing a strong thigh against Sherlock's cock. “So clever, so brave.” John was addicted to the way he moaned his name – he didn't think the thrill he got would ever calm down. “Want to make you feel so good, Sherlock.”

Sherlock was supposed to be doing something...something...he should be using his hands, right? But he couldn't seem to release his helpless grip on John's biceps. He was melting into the wallpaper, unable to control his mouth or his hips. John's name spilled from his vocal cords and he couldn't even manage to come up with the focus to be embarrassed of himself. “John, oh, John, John, Juh-hm”

It wouldn't be so difficult to keep a hold of himself, but John was – he smelled fantastic, and his palms were hungry, stroking up Sherlock's spine and curling through his hair.

“You smell incredible,” John growled, and bit into the junction of his neck and shoulders. “Sherlock...perfect, god, how I want you...You're so fucking gorgeous...”

Sherlock felt himself tingling all over, a mad rush that seemed to be centralized in his lower abdomen. He couldn't have stopped it if he wanted to. The orgasm hit him hard, like a more pleasurable version of being punched in the stomach. “Ju-Juh-uh-huh!”

John moaned aloud as he felt a wet heat spreading over his abdomen while Sherlock shook with pleasure and bucked wildly, before growing weak and finally slumping into his arms. He tightened his grip on the taller man, rutting frantically into the gloriously muscular firmness of Sherlock's thigh, still kissing every inch of skin he could reach. He was so turned on he felt stupid with it, his bollocks tightening up with the pressure of the fullness in them. “Oh, Christ, Sherlock.”

That definitely hadn't been the part of the plan to Seduce John Watson. Neither of them had taken their clothes off and all Sherlock had done was squirm against the wallpaper in their front hall and came after ninety seconds of whispering and frottage. They were both sticky and sweating and even though they both came already, John couldn't seem to stop touching him. A caress over the hand, a soft touch to his nape, a kiss at the jawline. He coaxed Sherlock up the stairs one step at a time, leaving his own trail of tender, heated breadcrumbs that the detective was helpless to follow.

Sherlock wasn't really sure what was going on, but he couldn't deny that this was one of the most incredible experiences of his life.

But it's not until John has him naked and spread over the bed, that Sherlock finds himself wondering if he hasn't slightly...misunderstood the situation he's in.

He tried to get on hands and knees, despite how vulnerable and uneasy the position made him feel, because he thought it would be more pleasurable for John if he could sort of pretend that Sherlock was someone else. At the very least, that way John would be able to remove himself from the reality of buggering his best friend.

But, to Sherlock's bewilderment, John wouldn't let him.

“No, no – let me see you. Sherlock, please.” The raw desire in his voice prompted Sherlock to obey, with some anxiety. Hoarsely, John whispered “Oh, god.”

Sherlock was a vision. Starry-eyed and gasping, all ivory skin and long bones. Slender and lovely and all for him. “Lovely,” he breathed, stroking gently at his inner thigh and listening to his detective's breath catch. “My beauty.”

Sherlock's breathing hitched again. His heart was racing so hard he was certain that John could hear it – surely the whole street could. Was it normal for...what was it? 'Fuck buddies'? To speak to each other this way? He didn't think so, but he had no experience to gauge from either. Perhaps, John spoke this way to all his partners. The thought actually made his heart sink a little.

John, on the other hand, had noticed the twitch of interest from Sherlock's prick and leaned forward to press a kiss to each curve of his rib cage. “Is that what you like?” he murmured between each teasing suck. “You want me to tell you how beautiful you are? How much I want you?”

Sherlock closed his eyes, embarrassed of himself. John was just trying to make this enjoyable for him and somehow he was being...effected...by these saccharine endearments.

“My beauty,” John whispered, nuzzling his neck and collar, passionately committed to kissing every inch of his lovely detective. He was utterly enchanted by Sherlock's obvious reactions to his words. A luridly bright flush had already spread from his cheeks down to his neck and he was honest-to-god panting. “I love the way you look when you're turned on. It makes me want to spend all day with you, in this bed. I've never seen anything sexier in my life.”

Sherlock squirmed deliciously and the vibrant blush on his neck was slowly working its way down to his chest, where Sherlock's nipples pebbled eagerly for a chance at his attention. John couldn't resist such a clear invitation, running his mouth softly over each one. “Sherlock.” Above him, Sherlock gasped as John's teeth grazed the sensitive peaks. “My dear one.”

A moan escaped his throat and slipped by Sherlock's lips, uncontrollable. This...this couldn't be how casual partners spoke to each other. His skin felt too small for his body and each pluck at his nipples made him mewl at the sensation. Why was it that the nerves in them seemed attached to his groin? “John, I-” He struggled to form the sentence, gasping continuously as John teased his way down Sherlock's chest, to the thatch of dark curly hair around his flushed cock. Perhaps they should get to the event at hand? “P-Penetration?”

“Is that what you want?” John husked, brushing Sherlock's sides with his knuckles. He kissed his temple and cheek, then ran his mouth down to lip tenderly at his earlobe. Brushed gently past his bollocks to circle the tight opening between his buttocks with his thumb. Lowering his voice to a hushed rumble, he said “Want me to prepare you? Get you and stretched and relaxed for me? Jesus, you'll feel incredible.”

A shudder trembled down Sherlock's spine and he moaned again. John's blood felt heavy pulsing through his veins and he sucked in a breath. Sherlock was a drug and John would do anything for a hit right now. His scent, his skin, his voice – he couldn't possibly get enough. “Can I make love to you?” he whispered urgently, sliding his fingers through the fine dark curls and kissing along his neck, willing every bit of his love into each pore. “My gorgeous, beautiful man – will you let me make love to you?”

A ragged, indrawn breath – nearly a sob. “Yes, John, yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took way longer than it should have...0% of people are surprised.

Sherlock would admit that he sort of expected John to just sort of...jump right into it.

It...making love...

That was just a saying, right? A euphemism? He wouldn't torture himself with the other alternative, he'd done that too much already. But it was a lovely fantasy, and it was impossible for Sherlock to stop himself from succumbing to such a long-held desire – especially when John offered such a tender seduction. If this was what sex with John Watson was like, it certainly explained why his girlfriends put up with his terrible dating behavior for so long.

Above him, John wondered if his pounding heart would finally leave his chest – it had enough reason to. He feels the same, his brain kept shouting out at him. Sherlock Holmes feels the same way you do!

“Lube?” he groaned through the haze in his mind. Shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Condoms?”

“The-the drawer,” Sherlock whispered back, eyes flickering to the nightstand and back. Flicking uncertainly over John's face. “Ex...experiment.”

John couldn't help but feel a bit worried. “They will still be viable, right?”

“Of course, John,” Sherlock huffed.

He was shaking and Sherlock was shaking, and John was supposed to be preparing him for “penetration” (not a sexy word, unless Sherlock was stammering it in choked gasps), but he couldn't make himself stop kissing him. Every time he tried to pull away, Sherlock's face was there, gasping, lashes falling down, cheeks flushed, lips wet and parted. Sherlock's hands didn't help at all – those large, graceful fingers clutched him closer as their mouths met again and again, and clung to him every time he pulled away.

John finally pulled away, panting into his shoulder. “You're exquisite,” his hands slipped down Sherlock's side – the silky skin, the firm muscles, the dark hairs. All his vulnerable, beautiful nakedness. Beside his cheek, he could feel Sherlock shaking his head. “But you are,” John insisted quietly into the hollow of his throat and slipping lower, to Sherlock's sternum and pectorals, letting his whispers anoint every secret, untouched place. Each nipple needed special attention, making the man above him gasp, and John said “...amazing...”

The hollow of each bared rib. “...extraordinary...”

A few hungry nips along the abs. “...fantastic...”

A suggestive lick at the navel. “...brilliant...”

Gentle brushes along the hipbone. “...beautiful...”

Filthy, open-mouthed kisses to the enticing expanse of each inner thigh. “...incredible...”

“...and mine,” John rasped, nuzzling at the musk and heat of his dark pubic hair. “Please. I need – Sherlock, please say that you are.”

Sherlock was dazed and wondering if he had given himself heroin without remembering and gotten stuck in his mind palace again. If this was a high, he never wanted to remember again, never wanted to come down again. He wanted to die this way, body alive and mind gently at rest, John murmuring his fantasies into the air around him. Eyes closed, he whispered to the ceiling “I'm yours, John. I'm only yours,” A ragged breath in. “I'm _always_ yours.”

John bent his head, devoted as a parish priest in prayer, and licked at the flushed damp head of Sherlock's cock like a cat would lick at cream, slipping his first two fingers gently against his perineum, rubbing carefully to hint about his intentions.

Sherlock didn't have the mental capacity just then to connect the dots, but he did moan loudly as John began messaging his entrance. Sense-memory from the last time John did this made a shudder quake down his body, his mouth dropping open and a loud sound emerging without his permission. The sound became syllables when John eased the first finger past the initial resistance of his body. “ _Johh-hhn_.”

Farther down the bed, John stopped his urge to hump the bed, humming eagerly around the warm flesh in mouth. The vibrations made Sherlock's voice crack and whine, begging with the pitch of his voice and the roll of his hips.

Even ordinary people can usually vividly remember the moments leading up to losing their virginity. For Sherlock, a genius with a photographic memory, it was all a blur of delicious wet heat and the breath-taking tingle of the stretch as John coaxed his body to open to him.

He wasn't even aware of time passing until both sensations disappeared and suddenly John was above him again, pulling his hips forward and shoving a pillow beneath him. As vulnerable as being on his hands and knees was, this was almost worse. He faced John with his knees pulled up to his chest and his legs spread apart. And that wasn't even the worst part. Sherlock wasn't functioning at his highest mentally, but he was still smart enough to know he'd never keep the emotion off his face. But he didn't want to miss watching John's face, watching John take pleasure from his body, as inconceivable as that concept seemed.

"Just bear down and keep breathing," John said quietly, pouring more lubricant generously over both of them. It was not possible to have too much and he'd rather make a mess of the bed then risk injuring Sherlock during his first experience with penetrative intercourse.

The pain of first entry was more intense than Sherlock had expected, but not not unbearable, and it settled quickly into a dull ache. 

John was above him, eyes closed and breathing hard, as though he were in the first stages of running a marathon.

Sherlock was of course, virgin-tight, but he was also hotter than sin. John found himself extremely grateful for the condom, possibly for the first time in his life - there was no way he would have lasted beyond the first intense squeeze of entry without it. "Alright?" he whispered, nuzzling the damp curls at his temple as he gathered himself. He was a bit concerned by how quiet Sherlock was now. "Does it still hurt?"

"Only in the beginning," Sherlock whispered back, as though they were inside their own private bubble. "You can move now."

"How about making you a little more comfortable first?" John husked, sliding a hand down his chest. His genius detective was now mostly soft, but that didn't surprise him given the stress of first time anal intercourse.

"What-?" Sherlock's eyelids fluttered shut as John teased and plucked at his nipples, arching and moaning softly at the feather-light touch.

"Yeah, just like that. Let yourself feel it," he breathed, rubbing gently at Sherlock's slightly less soft cock and balls. Remembering the overwhelmingly positive reaction to his fevered, half-mad praises earlier, John grinned and murmured "My beautiful man - you feel so, so good Sherlock."

Large palms skimmed uncertainly over his lower back, and there was the prick of fingernails, as if he were trying to clutch John closer but stopped himself each time. "Don't hold back, Sherlock," he moaned, squeezing the muscular forearms around his waist. He began sucking red and purple marks into the pale skin of throat, collar, chest. "I want it, oh god you don't even know how much..."

He gazed up to see Sherlock, head thrown back and biting savagely at his lip, whining wordlessly with his eyes tightly closed. "No, no, come on," John coaxed, pulling his teeth away from that abused mouth, and kissed the reddened spot sweetly. He kissed along his cheeks and jaw, whispering heated words into the quiet "Come on, sexy." A whispered secret to make his detective blush. " _I love hearing my name on your pretty lips."_

A loud gasp broke the silence, like a swimmer emerging from a deep dive.  _"John!"_

John kissed him - long, slow, and filthy - and Sherlock broke away, groaning his name as he arched back into the pillows, a long beautiful line from pale edible throat to the hard cock begging for attention. John realized he was gaping and decided that his partner was now sufficiently warmed up. 

He began moving at an even pace, a slow rocking that prevented him from going deeper than he meant to, so he could watch Sherlock without losing his mind - though if Sherlock kept this up, John was going to lose it without moving faster than a nice waltz. He watched, gaze transfixed as Sherlock's hands drifted up to tangle through his own hair, continuing to groan and stutter. "John-hmmm, don't-don't stop, John..."

"Feels good?" he murmured, luxuriating in this moment. In his beautiful partner - his warm body, his keening voice. In the amazing sensation of being joined with him, in the overwhelming emotion of being here, now. "S-Sherlock, god..."

Sherlock hadn't thought it would be like this, when the idea of seducing John came to him.

Truthfully, he'd thought that he would be bent over the bed or even a random piece of furniture and then he'd take deep breaths and grit his teeth through ten or fifteen minutes of vigorous thrusting and grunting. Afterwards, he assumed they'd clean themselves up and order takeaway and neither of them would acknowledge that they'd just had sex with their best friend. And this would happen whenever John needed it and they would be happy.

He wasn't prepared for how overwhelming it was, to finally have John (at least in part) the way he'd always wanted, and John was so,  _so_ good at finding those soft, weak places in his heart and stroking them with just the right amount of tenderness. "Jesus, I'm inside you Sherlock," he whispered, their foreheads resting together. "You feel...just  _incredible. Amazing_." 

The hands cupping his ribs slid around to his shoulder blades, squeezed him tighter to John's body. Their eyes locked, the touch of their gazes meeting a nearly physical feeling to both of them, and Sherlock gasped. "John, please..."

He didn't know what he was asking for, didn't know what he expected to receive in answer to such an open request. What John did do was thread his fingers through Sherlock's dark hair and took his mouth in a rough kiss. When they broke away they were both panting against each other's cheeks, and John kicked his hips forward, making Sherlock wail as the cock inside him slid past his prostate. "Huhn!"

Sherlock wasn't prepared to stare up into the deep cobalt blue of John's eyes while the man was inside of him, couldn't have predicted his sloe gaze, hot at the sight of Sherlock's flushed cheeks and heaving chest.

"So that's the spot, huh?" John whispered, gentling his strokes a little. "That's where my boy wants it?"

" _Huhn huhn huhn,"_ Sherlock panted, quivering from scalp to toes. His whole body felt electrified, needy, as if the ache of hunger in his belly from lack of food had traveled to encompass his entire being. He was no longer hesitant. He went wild, clawing at John's shoulders, arms, and chest in eager desperation, keening for more.

And John gave him more. 

The good doctor truly believed that he was now in heaven.

"Sherlock - oh, yes," John replied, and it was half moan and half growl. He was still kissing him, unable to move away from the flushed wet mouth that haunted his every fantasy. "My beautiful boy - 'm gonna make you feel so fucking good. Want to make a pretty, filthy mess of you."

John's knees pinned Sherlock's thighs to the mattress as he ground his cock deep into the aching place Sherlock wanted him, rocking hard and steady, and it was pressing and rubbing Sherlock's leaking cock into the soft irresistible flesh of John's lower belly. The sensation was incredible and his dark-haired beauty thrashed against the pillows, clutching John nearer, his moaning a continuous and full-throated symphony now. "Ha-hn-hn-hn-hn!"

John felt the stretch and itch of dried blood as Sherlock's fingernails scraped over his skin, but the brief flashes of pain only made it more intense. He knew the time had come when Sherlock's eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open, his tongue soundlessly flicking the 'j' consonant. 

When Sherlock finally came, it was as if someone had preformed a volcano experiment inside his blood - his veins fizzed and hissed with energy and above him, John groaned "Sherlock - fuck-!"

Finally silent with orgasm upon him, Sherlock shook all over as his cock pulsed between them, coating both their chests in sticky white semen as his eyes rolled back. John moaned loudly as the sensation translated into a squeezing grip around his own dick, grabbing Sherlock by the hair and plunging his tongue into his open mouth as he came for what felt like hours. 

Sated, they panted into each other's shoulders as they caught their breath, still weak from the strength of their release. 

John kissed his curly head. "I was right."

"About?" Sherlock murmured, trying to sound casual. What did one do after their best friend had finished giving them the most incredible orgasm of their life?

"You make a delicious-looking mess," John said, gently shifting out of his partner and rolled off the bed, heading for the bathroom.

Sherlock stared at his ceiling.  _This is it,_ he thought.  _That's all there is to this._

He swallowed heavily and reminded himself to be happy. He'd gotten more than he'd expected to receive - didn't that count for something? 

Understandably, he was a bit startled when John returned with a wet flannel that was more hot than warm and began wiping the mess off his chest. "I made you bleed," he muttered blankly, unable to think of anything else to say.

"More than worth it," John replied, yawning. "Move over, I got lube on the top sheet. We'll sleep with the duvet." 

We?

Sherlock scooted over, a part of him still operating on autopilot, his magnificent brain overloading on all the stimulus experienced today. John stripped the top sheet off and gathered the duvet as promised, curling up behind his lankier frame and gathering him possessively to him. He petted Sherlock's stomach, eyes heavy with sleep. "I can feel how hard you're thinking."

"I'm always thinking."

His heart skipped as John placed a tender kiss to the top of his ear. "Shhhh. Sleep now, love. You've earned it."


End file.
